The so-called “gold medal lawyer” had already taken a mental inventory of the antiques in my home. The way she looked at me had changed—from earlier contempt to something closer to unease.
She’d probably figured out the truth. Maybe even started to believe who I really was.
And that’s exactly what I wanted—to make Phoebe eat her own words in front of the very people she brought to shame me.
I gave her a glance, and the lawyer—Ms. Rachel Nelson—rushed to speak.
“Miss Wright, you asked me here to verify the bill. I’m only handling that. If there's anything else, I’m not responsible for it.”
A flicker of unease flashed across Phoebe’s face, but she waved a hand anyway.
“Fine. Let’s go over it.”
Each item was checked. Every time something matched, the bodyguards combed through my house to find a duplicate.
Surprisingly, they actually found two pieces that resembled the high-end purchases on the card.
Rachel’s expression shifted again.
Blake, smug, looked ready to declare victory.
Then I spoke, slowly, “Phoebe, how many supplementary cards do you have?”
She answered without hesitation. “Only one—and I gave it to you.”
I glanced at Blake—his eyes dodged mine.
Bingo.